25 Lives
by StarrNight
Summary: Time after time, life after life, Chrom will follow Robin.
1. Chapter 1

**1.**

 _[The very first time I remember you, you are blonde and don't love me back.]_

She was far from attractive the first time he met her, face down in a sunbathed field, dirt and sticks scattered through unbrushed platinum hair. When she raised her pale face, blinking, bewildered, it was marked with impressions of the grass in which she lay. "There are better places to take a nap than on the ground, you know." He told her, extending a hand and a bemused smile.

Her eyes were dark, dark, a sharp contrast to the rest of her pallid body. He caught himself staring and turned his head; she looked unlike anyone he knew—Plegian, he later learned. Frederick didn't trust her. Lissa was instantly enchanted. Chrom didn't know what to think. From the instant he locked onto her coal-black irises, he was lost.

"Where am I?" She asked. He blinked at her while his knight stiffened at his side. Amnesia. She knew nothing except her name. "Robin. My name is Robin." Ignoring Frederick's dark mutterings, Chrom offered her another smile—a real one this time.

Robin knew magic and could wield a sword like a cat wields its claws, though her stamina was unremarkable. After training sessions with the Shepherds she would stand by herself and just try to breathe. Her chest heaved up and down like she'd run through three different countries in the middle of summer. She watched the way the other soldiers effortlessly fought and Chrom knew that behind those unsettling dark eyes she was sizing them up and wondering how she could possibly keep from falling further behind.

The real treasure, however, wasn't her body in all of its tall, bony, ghostly glory. The real treasure was her mind. She was an unsung genius of a tactician—a bear trap mind tempered by a soft voice and a mild manner. It unsettled Chrom sometimes how quickly she could bounce from plotting mass death to wondering about supper. Strange. She was strange.

The rest of the Shepherds knew it too. There were whispers behind tents and hushed conversations in the mess hall— _did you hear what Robin has planned for the Valmese army?_

 _Burning oil, I hear. She's going to fry them alive._

 _That's barbaric!_

 _I think it's awesome! Nya ha!_

 _Shut your damn mouths. She's saving your sorry skins, isn't she?_

 _That's far from the point. She's unnerving._

 _More than unnerving. Downright scary._

 _No, not scary. Just…weird._

 _Definitely weird._

Robin either didn't know what they were saying or didn't care. Nothing changed. Little by little, friendly exchange by friendly exchange, the tactician won the Shepherds over by being herself. Slowly, the suspicion changed to respect and the rumors were silenced. Frederick stopped sleeping outside her tent door as he often did in case she got a wild hair to murder the prince during the night. _That_ , Robin said, _was a major victory_.

She won Chrom over too. Somewhere between battle strategies, skirmishes, and tea at two in the morning he realized that he trusted her with his life. He forgot all his royal training under the amnesiac's tight-lipped smile and scarcely knew where he was when she wasn't by his side. There was only one solution: he must convince her to stay beside him for the rest of always, and longer if possible.

He wanted to explain to her just how much she'd invaded his life, heart, and mind, but the words would always stick to the back of his throat like Sully's hardtack. He choked on them, trying to force them up and out but his efforts were in vain. Months passed and still he couldn't tell her that she was important, that she mattered, that he _loved_ her and all of her idiosyncrasies. He'd very nearly worked up the courage when she began wearing a ring. "Henry gave it to me," she said when he asked, her pale face clouding with pink.

Really, the whole thing made sense. The albino dark mage had been drawn to Robin immediately after joining their ranks because her wicked death traps fed his gleeful thirst for blood and mayhem. The two understood each other on a level that even Tharja couldn't compete with; Henry brought her the decaying arm of a fallen Risen and her next battle plan involved tag teams in which one soldier dismembered a foe and their partner swept in to kill the now defenseless enemy. She needed only to ask and he would spend the whole day in her tent, organizing her books.

Once she miscalculated the strength of a swordsman and failed to parry an attack, earning herself a slash across the flank. She fell to the ground and clutched her side, those dark eyes wide and darting. Her Plegian cloak hid the wound, but when she held her trembling hand in front of her even paler than normal face, it was coated with scarlet. Chrom might have impaled himself sprinting across the rocky battlefield, sword in hand, but another figure reached her first. Henry's face, the same Plegian white as Robin's, was twisted in a fury previously unseen and the unfortunate foe exploded in a maelstrom of pressure and noise.

He should have known then. Now it was too late. She and Henry were each other's and were truly perfect in their own strange, dark, alien world. Yet every time she lifted the flap to Chrom's tent and called his name, his heart stumbled at the sound of her voice and the glow of her ineffably odd self.

To be honest, it was almost a relief when she killed him. If it hadn't been for Lissa and Frederick's screams and the tears streaming down Robin's face, he might have been something close to peaceful. His sister didn't deserve to lose another sibling and Robin…her beautiful ebony eyes weren't meant to cry tears of pain and regret over something she couldn't control.

In his last moments he prayed like he hadn't since he was a child. If he were given another chance, he said silently, he would tell Robin all the things he held inside and ensure that this scene would never repeat—her pale hand clutching the handle of a sword that was embedded in his chest and strands of blonde hair sticking to the tears on her face. He would save Emmeryn and stop Lissa's sobs. He would do a lot of things if he had another chance.

Somewhere out there, Naga was listening.


	2. Chapter 2

**2.**

 _[The next time you are brunette and you do.]_

"Robin…I'm in love with you," Chrom said, his embarrassment outweighed by the aching need to spill these words. "I have been from the very first moment I laid eyes on you. I just didn't realize it until the last little while." This was a lie. He'd realized it years ago—six, to be precise—spanning across two…worlds? Lifetimes? What were they?

He'd given up trying to explain how _it_ had happened, how one moment he was wracked with sharp, cold pain and the next he was standing in a green field on a mild spring day laden with the promise of summer. The first thing he did was to feel his suspiciously hole-free chest. The second was to notice a cloaked figure lying prone in the dirt. The third was to sit down heavily on the ground because _this can't be happening_. Frederick was immediately concerned with his liege's odd behavior, but Lissa ignored it completely in favor of running to and crouching over the stranger.

His heart had hammered against his ribs harder with every step he took toward the figure and his fear grew—fear that this might not be who he expected and even more fear that it _would_ be. Still under Frederick's wary gaze, he reached a hand out and pulled back the person's hood to reveal the woman that was currently standing in front of him, wide-eyed and agape at his (not altogether unexpected) confession of love.

It was Robin—of that he was sure—but it also wasn't Robin, or at least the Robin he knew. Instead of a tangled mess of brilliant blonde hair, the tattered hood revealed a small, elfish face partially obscured by a slick river of brunette. Chrom was taken aback until her eyelids fluttered open and a pair of onyx eyes found his face and widened. The juxtaposition of those intensely familiar dark eyes against her pale Plegian skin dispelled his doubts; this was Robin, though perhaps in a different shell. "Chrom…" she said, her voice higher than he remembered. The air evaporated from his lungs. Did she…? His hopes withered away in the next moment, when the light of recognition dimmed from her face and was replaced by profound confusion. "Um…where am I?"

Before Frederick could open his mouth to chastise her for the impertinence of daring to say his Highness' name, Chrom had pulled her to her feet and placed a hand on each of her shoulders, staring deep into her eyes. "Do you know who I am?"

"Chrom!" Lissa cried, horrified at his manhandling of the woman.

Robin's face paled at the sudden questioning and her mouth gaped a bit as she looked back at him, clearly searching for her answer. "N-no, I…your name just came to me and…I'm sorry, I'm really confused right now!"

He reluctantly let go of her and stepped back to stand beside his scandalized sister. "I apologize. I thought…it doesn't matter. What's your name?"

She was still unsteady on her feet and she fidgeted, trying to find her balance. "I…I don't…ah, I'm sorry…oh! Robin! My name is Robin. I…I think."

Frederick snorted loudly and Chrom ignored him like usual. "Robin." He smiled, resisting the urge to take her hand. It occurred to him that he should be afraid of her and that she had killed him minutes earlier, but he didn't care. He could change that fate. "That's a lovely name." She just looked at him, her lips parted and a blade of grass stuck in her eyebrow.

Her peach mouth was open in the same startled 'O' now, though two years in the Shepherds had rendered her distinctly better groomed and grass-free. Chrom had been busy those two years—busy trying to fix every mistake he'd made last time while also keeping a certain albino dark mage as far away from Robin as possible. His efforts in that realm were unneeded, however, for this permutation of the tactician was mildly disgusted by Henry and had banned him from collecting any and all "unsavory items," which included but was not limited to Risen limbs, corpse teeth, bones from graveyards, and vials of his or anyone else's blood or bodily fluids. Even so, the prince kept a jealous watch over her and took every opportunity to bask in her company.

At two years he had reached his limit. She was different this time, yes; she had traded a calm demeanor for a tempestuous soul that occasionally erupted in strings of profanities and soap dishes hurled at his head (walking in on her in the bathing tent was an accident—the first time, at least) but it made no difference. Robin was Robin and he loved her the same if not more. When he found himself unable to eat or sleep without losing himself in mental images of her lips, he knew that he couldn't go on this way any longer.

He had expected the surprise on her face and even the faint dusting of red that spread from her cheeks all the way to her forehead. He'd planned for the way her eyes darted from side to side as if looking for a place to hide. He hadn't anticipated her pressing her petite but solid frame against him without warning, pulling his collar down, and claiming his lips with the same ferocity with which she claimed lives in battle. "Chrom…" she panted when she finally pulled away. "This is…so wrong—you're the general and I'm your chief tactician—but I can't tell you how much I hoped you felt the same way that I feel about you and…can we be selfish in this one aspect of our lives?" Her small hands found their way to his face and she ghosted fingertips across his skin, searching for answers. "I'll serve Ylisse and the Shepherds for the rest of my days and gladly give my life for the kingdom if I could do it beside you."

Her mouth was on his again, but he pulled back long enough to stumble out an awkward request. "Marry me."

"Yes, a hundred times," she breathed against his lips. He had more to say—a thousand words of adoration and explanation that he'd stored up for years, but the light touch of her tongue wiped his mind clean.

He was unable to save Emmeryn in this life either. He eagerly agreed to give the mad Plegian king the Fire Emblem but before the exchange could be made, his elder sister peacefully stepped from her perch and plummeted to her demise. The pain and guilt of her death crushed the Ylissian prince with as much force as it had the first time, but now Robin was by his side to share the burden and remind him every time he faltered that it wasn't his fault and that Emmeryn had made her choice willingly. His grief was lightened by the eventual birth of his daughter, Lucina, and the brief period of peace that reigned in the kingdom.

Then the girl from the future appeared and the world turned on its head.

She was taller than her mother, this Lucina that came from a devastated future, but she had inherited Robin's mouthy manners and her milky Plegian skin. She had come to help save the world, she said. Chrom immediately knew that she was talking about Robin when she tearfully warned him that he would be slain by someone he knew and trusted, but he waved away her words as inconsequential—he already had a plan to circumvent Validar's wicked schemes. He said nothing about this plan to either his daughter or his wife because, he figured, it would be too hard to explain how he knew such information in advance. He would tell them when the time was right.

His second world ended on a hot summer evening when a cry rent the air a few hundred meters from where the Shepherds were camped. He grabbed his sword and rushed toward the noise, only to fall to his knees at the sight that awaited him: there among tall golden grasses and late summer flowers stood Lucina, whimpering aloud and grasping, white-knuckled, the handle of Falchion, whose blade had pierced through Robin's chest. "I'm sorry, Mother," she sobbed. "I'm so sorry…but I can't let you kill Father! I c-can't! I'm sorry!" With a swift, shuddering movement she pulled the sword from her mother's body and eased her to the ground before being roughly pushed aside by Chrom himself.

Light from languidly drifting fireflies reflected off of Robin's pulsing blood like lanterns on the ocean. "Robin! ROBIN! No!" He ripped off his cape and pressed it vainly against her wound, trying to staunch the flow of scarlet. "Stay with me love, we're going to fix this, we're going to…oh, gods…keep looking at me Robin, I love you, I _love you_ , don't you leave me like this, I don't know what to do without you and…Robin! _Robin!_ "

He pressed his ear to her chest, but all he could hear were mournful cicadas and Lucina on the ground beside him crying and repeating over and over again the words that were also in Chrom's own head.

 _I'm sorry…I'm sorry…I'm sorry…I'm so sorry…_


	3. Chapter 3

**3.**

 _[After a while I give up trying to guess if the color of your hair means anything._

 _because even if you don't exist, I am always in love with you.]_

In the third world her hair was as dark as her eyes and so glossy that the campfire reflection made it look like a midnight sky in a meteor shower. It took her more time than last, but she eventually accepted Chrom's feelings, though her own were crippled by the guilt she felt at her perceived lack of true dedication to the Shepherds due to her preference for the prince. He held her close and soothed her worries with gentle words and assurances that their relationship would never cause them to neglect the rest of the army.

He failed a third time to save Emmeryn and once again Robin gave birth to a new Ylissian princess, Lucina, whose left eye again bore the brand of the Exalt. This time he managed to stop his daughter from skewering her mother with Falchion, but it was all for naught because, in his relief, he missed the signs of despair brewing in his wife and she took her own life two days later. Without her, they stood no chance of defeating the fell dragon Grima and the world fell soon after.

She had forest green hair done up in elaborate braids and a melancholy, long-suffering face in the fourth world. Before Chrom even had time to ingratiate himself with her, she was deeply involved in a love-hate relationship with a middle-aged mercenary the Shepherds had saved in the desert. Love eventually triumphed over hate and Gregor got his wish of sharing body heat with the tactician, much to Chrom's disgust.

The lack of distraction allowed the prince to finally achieve his goal of saving Emmeryn, but to his long-lasting horror, her not dying meant that the Plegian soldiers were not moved emotionally into defecting from their ranks. The Shepherds were overrun before they could even make it back to Ylisse and that world came to a swift close.

The next time she was blonde again—a dirty, dishwater blonde—and he expected the worst, but she surprised him by pursuing _him_ instead of the other way around. She was fond of puns and kept him laughing throughout the entire war…or at least until she did something incredibly stupid and approached the Plegian king to offer her life in exchange for Emmeryn's. King Gangrel laughed and laughed and then killed both of them without blinking. Chrom had never felt that much rage and despair until he saw his sister and wife's bodies mangled together at the enemy's feet. He lost himself in his wrath and slaughtered Gangrel cruelly, but fate had already been sealed.

He found himself at a bit of a loss in the sixth world when he pulled back Robin's battered hood to reveal a distinctly masculine face under a head of hair even whiter than his Plegian skin. The man identified himself as Robin when he awoke and Chrom knew it must be true, for his piercing black eyes were still the same, though they were set in a more rugged, hardy face. The Ylissian prince quickly realized that it didn't matter to him what genitalia Robin possessed—he was in love with the tactician's soul, not his or her body—but that didn't matter because Robin's heart was quickly stolen by none other than the second princess of Ylisse, Lissa.

Lissa and Robin's wedding introduced Chrom to a new level of discomfort and shame as he battled joy at his sister's bliss as well as heartbreak and jealousy that his own sibling had taken away his whole reason for existing. Guilt burned like acid in his stomach every time he looked at Owain, Robin and Lissa's son from the future, because an unquenchable voice somewhere in the back of his skull whispered treacherous words like _Lissa has no right to share parenthood with Robin_ and _this boy doesn't deserve to exist_. Such poisonous thoughts led to a strained relationship between uncle and nephew as well as a disgruntled little sister and best friend.

Chrom, like he always did when Robin was unavailable, chose not to marry and so Lucina was never born. The war was all but impossible without her skill in battle and advice from the future and, like the others, this world soon drowned in an irresistible darkness.

The very worst world occurred two lives later, when Chrom awoke after death to find himself standing in an empty field bereft of sleeping amnesiacs. Frederick and Lissa could not understand and were alarmed when the prince refused to leave the field and insisted on camping there for a week straight. Even when they forced him back to the castle with a mixture of Frederick's threats and Lissa's tears, he unaccountably ran back to the field every morning as if he were waiting for something or someone to appear.

Of all the senseless tragedy and violence that had occurred thus far, Chrom hated this happening the most. It was one thing for Robin to choose another life mate or to make bad decisions…but to not exist at all? It was blasphemy for the sun to rise and illuminate a world that didn't contain the one person who Chrom was convinced was solely responsible for causing the world to spin and the stars to shine. How could he possibly explain his pain to the others—his grief at the lack of someone who, in their minds, has never existed?

The war had begun without him, but he couldn't find it in himself to care. After all, there would surely be another life after this one, or so he stubbornly believed despite not having any evidence in his favor. After a year of waiting for her in the field, he gave up his vigil and admitted that she wasn't coming back this time. This Robin-less world was hollow and cursed and he left it of his own volition, hiding himself far from the castle in the hopes that Lissa would not be the one to find his body.

He didn't hide himself well enough, though, or he underestimated the dedication of a terrified sister searching for her big brother, for find him she did. Such was her anguish that the nightmares of stumbling across her brother's corpse followed her even into the next few lives when she no longer remembered from whence they came. Eventually even the dream itself faded and she would wake up some nights with her pillow damp and her eyes filled with tears that she couldn't explain.


	4. Chapter 4

**4.**

 _[I remember most fondly those lifetimes where we get to grow up together,_

 _when you share your secrets and hiding places with me.]_

Validar was late in causing trouble this life and Chrom couldn't be more grateful. Lucina had turned three that day and he and Robin were exhausted from preparing, supervising, and then helping clean up the mess from the royal birthday party. As tempting as it was to slide his hand up Robin's nightshift and coax his wife into a private party in bed with just the two of them, he couldn't muster up the energy and so compromised by hooking an arm around her waist and pulling her closer, closer, until her unruly salmon hair tickled his nose and he sneezed. "Gods bless you," she said, laughing tiredly.

"I think Lucina had fun today." Chrom said into her hair. "I wonder if she'll remember this day when she's older." _I wonder if any of you will remember this day._

"She better," Robin replied. "She ate enough cake to give her a sugar rush until her 18th birthday." She wriggled a bit under the covers finding the most comfortable position, which involved melding her body against Chrom's. Without fail, she always had the best sleep when as much of her body was touching his as possible.

He stroked the impossibly soft skin on the back of her hand with his thumb and rumbled contentedly deep in his throat. "You really went all out on the party. I was surprised." She had invited all of the children Lucina knew from the Shepherds' families as well as some of the townsfolk children that played with them occasionally. Instead of relying on the maids and chefs to prepare the food, she'd taken it upon herself to bake and frost the cake and help assemble the snacks. "I thought you'd be angry when Owain used the colored frosting as face paint, but you didn't even seem to care."

She snorted. "That boy. I was more disturbed when Noire tried to mix up a hex in the fruit punch. What have Tharja and Henry done to that girl?"

"I don't know and honestly I don't care to."

Silence, then Robin spoke again. "I just wanted to give Lucina something to smile about when she's older. I…I never want her to look back and be able to say that we didn't give our best efforts, you know? I just…I want her to grow up and remember that she…she was loved and…valued and…had friends and…" Her voice trailed off and her body grew rigid and began to shake ever so slightly.

His eyes narrowed and his fingers traced up her arm and toward her face where they were met with warm, wet trails. "Robin, what's the matter?" He asked, his hands halting against her cheeks. She didn't reply, so he gently turned her over to face him. "What brought this on?"

She squeezed her eyes tightly shut as if she was embarrassed of what she was about to say. The breath she'd been holding was abruptly released with a sob and fresh tears streamed from the corners of her eyes. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to cry about this. Ugh."

Her pain was Chrom's pain and his heart constricted at the way she chewed on her cheek hard, hard, hard, trying to drown out her emotions with physical pain. _She has to be bleeding by now_ , he thought, wincing. "Love…talk to me. Maybe I can help." He took her hands in his and held them against his chest.

She sobbed a bit more before quieting enough to speak. "I…I have no memories of my childhood. Not one, Chrom. I can't help but wonder…what have I forgotten?" Her eyes searched his face for answers, but he had none to give. "Did I have parents that loved me as much as I love our precious daughter? Would they have given anything for me the way I would give my very life blood for Lucina? D-did they do their best to give me happy memories that I've thrown away like garbage?" The crying resumed, silently this time. He had seen her cry oh, so many times—tears of joy, tears of pain, crying as she _died_ —but this time was somehow worse than all the rest. "Are they out there waiting for me now? Did I break their hearts when I disappeared? I don't remember their faces, Chrom!" Her voice was panicked now. "I don't remember the faces of my own mother and father! Surely they gave up all they had to raise me and I…I've forgotten them!"

He pulled her against his chest and let her weep freely, wetting his night shirt with warm salt water. "Mother…." She whimpered. "Father…I'm so sorry…"

Tears of sympathy sprang to Chrom's eyes as well and he let them trickle from his eyes and into her coral hair. They lay this way until Robin's heaving sobs subsided to gentle hiccups. "If…If you have no memories to call your own, why don't you share some of mine?" he murmured, lowering his face to meet hers (red and puffy though it was).

Those sable eyes that had been bewildering him for years slowly drifted up to meet his. She blinked, unsure of what he meant. "I don't…?"

"I'll tell you every story and secret and memory I can think of from when I was a boy. I'll describe every part of my parents' faces to you until you could paint their likenesses blindfolded. If you can't remember your childhood, then you can share mine." He cupped her face in his calloused hands and kissed her once, twice, three times, and then a fourth time for good measure. "I don't know where your parents are, love, but I know where your family is. They're here in this castle and they love you more than you can imagine. Lissa does. Lucina does." He placed a hand gently on her belly. "Little Morgan does, even if he or she doesn't know it yet. And I— _I_ love you so…so…so much." He accented his words with kisses. "You can't possibly understand what you mean to me."

Though her face still glistened, the tactician smiled and held his hand to her face. "Thank you, Chrom. Thank you…for everything. I love you too. You're my…my soulmate, you know?" She groaned and buried her face in her hands. "Ugh that was so sappy! Forget I said that!"

He laughed until she began to laugh along with him. Together they chuckled and held each other with desperate hands. Her face now (mostly) dry, she looked up at him with half-lidded eyes and a teasing smile. "Tell me a memory."

He searched through his mental archives, looking for one that would make her laugh that beautiful laugh again and that would chase away the remnants of sadness on her face. "Ah. Did I ever tell you about the time Lissa fried her hair on a candle and asked me to cut the burned parts out so Mother and Father wouldn't notice?"

Robin shook her head, already giggling.

"It was horrible. I still feel bad about it. See, she'd singed one lock of hair because she forgot that she had a candle on the desk. She came to me in a panic because she couldn't find Emm and I was her last hope. So I took the scissors and tried to carve out the burnt part, but I cut too far up and she ended up with a hole in her hair. I didn't want her to know that I'd messed up (I was fourteen—cease your snickering, Robin) so I tried to cut the rest of her hair to match, but I kept slipping with the shears so I had to keep cutting higher and higher and…"

"And?" Robin's mouth hung open in anticipation.

Chrom blushed, gritting his teeth. "…and she ended up with something akin to a bowl cut."

"No!"

"…yes."

The tactician was howling now. "What did she say when she found out?" She asked in between bouts of laughter.

He scrunched up his face at the memory. "Let's just say we weren't friends for a while. I hid in the greenhouses while she raged and I didn't touch shears for at least a year after that."

Robin giggled into his chest. Once she had laughed herself out she sighed, but said nothing more. Chrom wrapped his arms around her soft body again and placed a lingering kiss on her cheek, noting with pleasure that it was dry. The mild silence of the night combined with the velvety darkness lulled him into a light sleep until Robin murmured something so quietly he wasn't sure she'd said anything at all.

"Thank you," she murmured.

He didn't need to be thanked. All that was his was also hers; she could take anything she wanted—his memories, his time, his wealth, and even his life. Again and again he would offer them to her because, after all, why deny her such paltry things when she already possessed his soul?

Besides, she would forget every word he'd said when this life ended and the next one began—which it did that very night when assassins slayed the toddler princess in her bed and then moved on the room where the Exalt and his wife slept peacefully in each other's arms.

Thank you so much for reading and reviewing 3 You're all wonderful!


	5. Chapter 5

**5.**

 _[I love how you play along with my bad ideas before you grow up and realize they are bad ideas._

 _(and in our time together I have many bad ideas.)_

 _When we meet as adults you're always much more discerning._

 _I don't blame you.]_

"This is a terrible idea," she hissed, quietly tying her brilliant scarlet hair up in a ponytail.

His eyes did not waver from their target, though a smirk lifted one side of his lips. "This is the only way to teach him a lesson he won't forget."

"This is a good way to die."

He finally flicked his gaze over to her and smirked. _As if death could terrorize me anymore._ "What, is the great tactician of the Shepherds scared of a horse?"

"It's _Sully's horse_ , so yes. And it's not a horse, it's a equine-shaped demon from the underworld." She scowled at him and then squinted, trying to see the animal in question through the tangle of underbrush. "Why aren't you afraid?"

"We're trying to preserve Sully's honor; the horse will sense our pure intentions and understand. Vaike, however, the peeping tom dastard, will not be so lucky." He fished in his knapsack and pulled out a cluster of carrots tied at the stems with twine. "Also I have this."

"Carrots and delusions of grandeur. Excellent strategy," She whispered sarcastically. "Let's just get this over with."

He beamed at her. "I'm glad you approve. Now, just to rehash, I'm going to throw this rock in the bushes near Vaike. The horse, which as you can see is on the other side of Vaike, will hear either the thump of the rock landing or his yelp of pain (hopefully both) and will come running to investigate. While it is chewing on his buttocks, we will sneak away through that grove of trees. Ready?" Her only reply was a dramatic rolling of the eyes, so he carried on, picking up a largish rock and craning his neck to ascertain Vaike's location before lobbing the stone towards the axe wielder. It landed with a _clunk_ and Vaike yelped out a curse, looking around to see from where the projectile came. "There's the horse! It's heading right toward him! Here we go! It's…uh…it's passing him. Bad horse!"

Behind him, Robin squeaked in horror. " _It's coming our way!_ Chrom! _"_

"Don't worry—surely it won't…no, it definitely sees us. Oh gods. Get the carrots."

She handed him the carrots with shaking hands and he tossed one in the horse's path, but it did not even slow to acknowledge the vegetable. " _Chrom!_ " She hissed again in his ear. The horse drew nearer and picked up its pace, pure bloody homicide clear in its eyes.

He threw another carrot, then pressed his lips together. "Robin, if we don't make it out of this, I just want you to know that I love you."

"You dastard—wait, what? What did you just say?"

"No time for this now," he said, pulling her to her feet. "RUN!" Still holding her hand, he sprinted toward the chosen escape path. Behind them, Sully's horse gave a murderous whinny.

She ran, barely keeping up with his pace and wailing the whole time. "CHROM!"

oOoOoOo

"What type of curse did you have in mind? Tharja asked, tracing long, pale fingers down the worn cover of her favorite tome. "I have a menu of delicious hexes if you need a list."

"We don't want anything dangerous," Robin said, emphasizing her words with a stern look. "Just something that will keep him from being able to hide and peep on the women bathing in the lake."

The Plegian dark mage's expression darkened minutely and she huffed. "That takes away all the fun options."

"Good," Chrom replied emphatically. "No fun. We want something harmless but irritating."

Robin snapped her fingers. "I've got it! How about a sneezing hex? I know you cast one on Stahl last week. Could you make him sneeze…say…every time he gets…you know… _aroused_? I mean, why else is he peeking at women in the lake?"

The corners of Tharja's mouth turned up slightly. "One lustful thought equals one sneeze—is that what you want?"

"Perfect."

"What's my incentive?"

Robin blinked. "Pardon?"

"My incentive," Tharja repeated. "What do I get in return?"

"Uh…gratitude?" Chrom suggested.

 _Snap_. The dark woman shut her tome and turned her back as if to leave. "As if that would tempt me."

"Ah, wait, Tharja!" Robin called. "What do you want? We can make it happen. Probably." The last part was muttered more quietly and sheepishly than the rest.

Tharja twirled around and cradled her chin in her hand, her face spread in a discomfiting smirk. "How about…twenty-four hours with you, Robin? Alone."

"Absolutely not," Chrom said firmly.

Tharja scowled at him and stuck a clawed finger in her mouth moodily. "Fine. No deal."

"I'll do it! It's a deal. Twenty-four hours with me if you'll pull off this hex." Robin said, stopping her from leaving again. The grin spread on the dark mage's face once more and she obediently opened her book and began flipping through the pages.

Chrom pulled Robin to his side and lowered his voice. "Robin, this is insane! Who knows what she'll do to you? You don't have to do this."

"It's okay—really! She's not such a bad person when you get to know her. She'll probably just spend the day counting the number of times I blink or something."

"I don't like this," he said, shaking his head. "I think we should call it off."

"Call what off?" A boisterous voice asked, approaching from the direction of the meal tent. Chrom and Robin turned to see Vaike striding up and looking strangely diminished without his giant axe slung over his shoulder.

 _Snap_. Tharja had slammed her book shut again. "Nothing that concerns you," she said darkly to the newcomer. "Robin, I have completed your request. I'll be claiming my prize now." She reached out and took Robin's hand and began dragging her away. Robin turned her head and looked at Chrom, a long-suffering expression on her face.

Chrom watched them go unhappily. He only had so much time with her in a life…he didn't like surrendering a day to anyone, especially Robin's own personal shadow stalker. Vaike also watched them leave with a considerably happier visage. "Robin's got a nice arse, don't you think?" He grinned at her back and then was suddenly overcome in a paroxysm of sneezes.

"Naga bless you," Chrom said, and then put his fist through Vaike's face.

oOoOoOo

Every life Chrom had to readjust to Robin's personality; it was an occasionally frustrating but always pleasurable task. Sometimes Robin was a prankster and could suggest five ways to get in trouble before sunrise. Sometimes she preferred to stick to rules and live her life in a fashion so orderly she could write down (and follow!) an hour-by-hour schedule.

Chrom had stopped pretending to himself that stumbling upon her in the bathing tent was an accident after the third time. It was wrong and he knew it, but he found it hard to feel guilty after he'd married the tactician time after time and knew her body and soul backwards and forwards. Besides, it always helped him gauge her temperament in this particular life and she, without fail, would barge into his bathing tent some time later, evening the score.

Sometimes she'd screech and blush and hide behind the clothing rack then refuse to make eye contact with him for weeks. Those were usually the lives in which she was gentler and more sensitive. When she _did_ catch his eye again, her adorable face would flame and she would often lose her voice in the middle of a sentence.

Sometimes she would fly into a righteous rage and launch a swift and furious attack upon the intruder. "YOU PERVERTED FARCE OF A PRINCE!" She might yell, completely forgetting to tie up her towel in her haste to launch all manner of objects at his head. That was always a sight—Robin, gloriously naked and armed with scrub brushes and crockery. Afterwards she would usually apologize and Chrom would shake his head and assure her that he was the one to blame (because he was).

Sometimes she would act as if it wasn't anything unusual at all. "Hullo, Chrom! Did you need me?" She would ask, lathering her calves and feet and making sure to scrub between her toes. After stammering out an apology he would leave, but she would call cheerfully at his back "Come back if you remember what you wanted to tell me! And bring another bar of soap!"

One glorious time he blundered inside and she turned to face him, bubbles still sticking to her wild dark plum hair and creamy pale shoulders. Maintaining eye contact with him, she stood up and deliberately dropped her towel to her feet. "Oops," she offered, popping her eyebrows coquettishly.

Chrom swallowed hard. _Great Naga…whenever death comes in this life I'll accept it…just please…not tonight._

 _oOoOoOo_

Mild, vengeful, spiteful, generous, anxious, exuberant, elegant, and stubborn; Chrom loved every permutation of Robin more deeply than the last. Yet with every life came death: for every time he had the honor of pulling her to her feet in a sun-drenched field he also had the burden of watching the life fade from her eyes.

Sometimes she died instantly and sometimes the life eked from her body miserable bit by miserable bit. Sometimes her light dimmed in the middle of a laugh. Sometimes he knew he had lost her by the way the tears stopped leaking from her eyes. Sometimes he held her in her last moments and all he saw deep in her dark, dark eyes was fear.

He lived to meet her again and to fall in love with her anew every time.

Even so, every time he opened his eyes to find himself once more staring down at a beautiful amnesiac, he fell a little deeper into despair.

Life. Death. Life. Death. Life. Death.

 _Love._

Death.

A new quarter of med school just started so the updates are sadly going to come more slowly...I apologize! Thank you for reading and for your lovely comments!


	6. Chapter 6

**6.**

 _[Yet, always, you forgive me._

 _As if you understand what's going on and you're making up for all of the lifetimes in which one of us doesn't exist, and the ones where we just, barely, never meet.]_

It was another one of _those_ lives—the ones where Chrom awoke to an empty field and a Robin-shaped hole in his heart. Having learned his lesson from the previous time this had happened, he didn't bother to wait around for the tactician he knew would not appear and instead decided to let this life sweep him where it would.

Emmeryn noticed his despondency and pulled him aside in the castle to talk. "Chrom, I hope this is not disrespecting your privacy, but…I've noticed that you've lost your spark lately." He blinked at her, always unsurprised how well she read the things he tried to hide. "I want you to remember that you can always talk to me about anything. I am the Exalt, yes, but I am also your sister and I take both duties very seriously."

Her smile was like standing too close to a bonfire on a cold winter night; warm and comforting but a little painful. He breathed evenly and tried not to see her face as he saw it in his nightmares: twisted, pale, and streaming scarlet from multiple openings. No, today her face was clean and clear and her eyes were soft like a mother's. Ah, nothing had changed since his boyhood—one look from her and he longed to spill all of his secrets into her arms. That used to be so easy…but what now? He was not looking for a trip to the halidom's best mental healer. "Sister, what would you do if you ever had to choose between Ylisse and the people you love?"

"That is quite the troubling question. Why do you ask?"

He grimaced, unsure how to reply. "Just…had a nightmare." _Several, actually, only they're real and they won't stop._

Emmeryn's gentle hazel eyes held his. "I think you know the answer all too well." He didn't reply. "As royalty, our lives have never been our own. We live so that the people of Ylisse may live and, if necessary, we also die for that cause. There is no shame or sadness in that."

 _Even so…_ Chrom felt beads of cold sweat run down his back. "What if…what if that choice weighed Ylisse against Lissa or I? What would you do then?" He searched her eyes as if he were drowning and she held the only rope to safety.

Pain clearly bloomed on her face and she winced, closing her eyes. "That is a choice I pray that I never have to make."

"That's not an answer."

She was hesitant to reply and Chrom understood why. Out of context, this was an uncomfortable and cruel conversation. "Chrom, you know that I love you and Lissa more than life itself. The correct answer is that one life—even that of my precious sibling—does not outweigh those of our people. Still…I would have…trouble…making that call." She took his hand and held it between hers with gentle pressure. "I only pray that, if it ever comes to that sort of choice, there is an option in which I may forfeit _my_ life instead. For you, for Lissa, and for our kingdom, I would lay down my life with peace. Such is my role as Exalt and such is my love for you, little brother." She brought his hand up to her lips.

He reached out and pulled her into his arms, resting his chin on her muted golden hair. Though he'd known her answer in advance, hearing it from her lips flooded Chrom with both relief and horror. Relief that he knew that right path to take. Horror that he had to take that path. And above all, love and admiration for his strong sister.

oOoOoOo

In that life and the ones that followed, he never again saved her. In return, the Plegian peoples always threw down their weapons in honor of her sacrifice, allowing the Shepherds to make progress toward the true battlefield of Valm. Every time she fell, Chrom squeezed his eyes shut and thought back to a conversation in an empty stone corridor and a glowing face full of compassion and resolve.

When his eyes opened again, he saw not a crumpled heap of torn flesh and broken bones, but a last love letter from a woman who, for her people's and her siblings' sake, had made peace with even death.

Every chant of her name was like a hymn of sorrow and of gratitude.

oOoOoOo

Sometime later that same life, Chrom, Lissa, and the ever-vigilant Frederick walked through the Plegian capital on their way to what had been advertised as a "peace talk" but what Chrom knew was really an opportunity for Validar to suss out his strength. The capital was a dusty, crowded city full of pale Plegians with dark clothes and darker eyes. The three Shepherds stood out, as their clothes were far more colorful and built for a climate with less dry heat and sand. Lissa's sunflower-colored dress and soft green eyes (so like Emmeryn's) drew the most attention and Chrom glowered at the males who stared.

It hit him like a cloudburst: a familiar smell from a bluenette woman who raced past him, out of breath and clutching a tome. She didn't wear a cloak and was clad instead in the sheer, revealing clothing of a Plegian dark mage. He only had time to blink and catch his breath before she had turned a corner and disappeared.

Another woman in the same clothes but with raven hair passed Chrom in pursuit of the first woman. "Impossible girl!" She muttered in a tone more frustrated than truly angry. Chrom put out his hand to grab and frantically question her, but recoiled instantly when he got a closer look at her face. It was Tharja and if he, a stranger, laid hands on her, she was likely to curse him into the next life. She kept running down the street, missing the alley into which the blue-haired mage had ducked.

Without thinking he sprinted toward and down that alley, peering between shops and scanning the walkways for any sign of who he knew was this life's Robin—though why she was here in Plegia he couldn't guess. The alley ended in an opening into another street even busier than the last and Chrom knew that he had lost her among the noisy throng of Plegians and the vivid smells of cooking food and incense.

Lissa, panting and pouring sweat, found him moments later. "Chrom! Don't— _huff_ —run away like that! You scared me! Frederick was so startled he nearly put his lance through a man's…Chrom?" She approached him slowly. "Are you crying?"

"No," he said, but the evidence was already puddling in his eyes and slipping down his cheeks. Lissa dithered for a moment before wrapping her arms around him and holding on tight. Chrom hugged her back, chasing away Robin's scent with the smell of Lissa's hair—soap, something floral, and Frederick's armor polish.

Knowing that Robin was so near and yet untouchable was agony and Chrom wished for a single moment that she were dead instead—a thought for which he was immediately ashamed.

 _[I hate those.]_


	7. Chapter 7

**7.**

 _[I prefer the ones in which you kill me._

 _But when all's said and done, I'd rather surrender to you in other ways.]_

He could tell that she could tell that he was uncomfortable, almost hesitant, though she hadn't said anything yet. She probably thought it was nerves since this was their first time. Of course she was unaware that this _wasn't_ their first time, all lives considered, nor was it their fiftieth time or even probably their one hundredth time. _Why then, in the name of all the gods,_ Chrom thought, grimacing as Robin nibbled down his neck, _am I having doubts now?_

He'd done everything differently this life. Perhaps, he'd thought, if he did the opposite of what he always did, Robin would also do the opposite of what she always did—and what she always did was die. If one wants extreme results, one must take extreme actions, so he resolved to make this life unlike any other in the hopes of finally breaking whatever chains tied him to this hellish loop. He avoided Robin as much as possible, ducking into tents and around corners when he saw her approaching. He specifically requested that Emmeryn be sent back to Ylisse when he knew all that awaited her was ambush. He avoided the women's bathing tent at all costs. He even locked Robin and Henry alone in a weapons tent overnight (this turned out very poorly for both of them; Henry told Robin a bedtime story involving the spirit of a tortured mercenary looking for his lost hands and Robin was so scared she refused to let either of them sleep until dawn).

The more Chrom ran from her, the more she pursued him. "Do you hate me?" She asked one evening, kneeling on the ground after finding him hiding under a supply cart. "Have I done something to offend you?" Her long sable hair pooled unheeded in the dirt as she peered at him.

He stared back, feeling foolish. "No." he replied truthfully but begrudgingly.

"Then why did you hide from me? You've been avoiding me since I joined the Shepherds and I want to know why." Her tone brooked no room for excuses; she seemed perfectly at ease to wait beside the cart until he gave her the answers she sought.

He could think of nothing to tell her but the truth. "I think being near me puts you in danger and I…I would not have you die because of me."

Her face was blank. "That's asinine."

"I…I beg your pardon?"

"The idea that my life is tied so tightly to your proximity and actions—you're having delusions of grandeur. If I die, Prince of Ylisse, it will be on my own terms—that I promise you."

Chrom was so taken aback, he forgot he where he was and jerked his head upwards, knocking it hard against the wooden underside of the cart. "Ow," he complained, rubbing the bump.

She continued to study him. "I'm glad that you don't find me offensive because I'm…I'm rather fond of you." She reached toward him, smiling now. "How about you come out from under the cart and I'll give you some of the brown sugar candy I took from Gaius' knapsack?"

There was nothing for him to do but grab her hand and try to maintain as much dignity as possible while crawling out from the shadows under the cart like some giant blue lizard. When she pulled him to his feet, he looked in her eyes properly for the first time that life and was once again lost.

Now, as she tangled her mouth with his, panic bubbled in his chest. He couldn't do this. He couldn't lose her again. What was the point of loving her when he knew the end of their story? Under what circumstances would he watch her die this time? What blade or spell would pierce her milky flesh and spill her blood? His hand tightened on her bare back, pressing her more firmly against him. _I hate this…I can't…_

"Chrom," Robin breathed, pulling her face from his and running a hand down his cheek. "Do you want this?"

He knew what she meant and he didn't hesitate before nodding. "Yes." Of course he wanted this—wanted her. He loved her. He loved everything about her, even if it made no sense. He couldn't help himself; he wanted to mingle their bodies so closely together that they were inextricably one and he would never have to feel her slip from his fingers again.

She dropped gentle, lingering kisses on his lips. "Relax, then, and trust me. I won't hurt you and I know you'd never hurt me." She was on top of him now and her warmth and weight were so comforting that Chrom finally surrendered to her loving ministrations. The aching knot in his chest slowly loosened and disappeared with every touch of her mouth and palms. His hands roamed her body, memorizing her curves and worshipping her skin. Her breath caught when he found a sensitive spot and he felt the familiar surge of desire through his veins.

What would it take to save her? He kissed the soft spot behind her ears, smoothing back her damp hair with his free hand. Where could he take her that she would be safe? She moaned his name and he quickened his pace. What price could he pay to keep her alive? Her nails raked down his back and he grimaced in pleasure and pain. Why wasn't he strong enough to protect the woman he loved?

Why?

oOoOoOo

"I won't let you do this, Robin!" Chrom yelled, tightening his grip on the tactician's bloodied hand. "I won't let you sacrifice yourself, even for this cause!"

Maybe he had been right about drastic measure causing drastic changes, for the Shepherds had finally triumphed over Grima, though the casualties had been many. Bodies littered the battlefield—among them the twisted corpses of Panne, Maribelle, Ricken, Cordelia, and others. Ricken had fallen defending Maribelle, who succumbed soon after to a volley of arrows. Cordelia had called for help, but it was too late when help arrived. Panne would never see her species repopulate. Worst of all was the small, still figure in a sunflower-colored dress being cradled in a stricken Frederick's arms.

Lissa's death was the worst—he'd never lost her before—but if it was necessary to bring this never-ending nightmare to a close, then so be it. He would face his grief later. "Please, Robin." He begged.

She bit her lip, unsure of what to do. "You heard Naga," she whispered. "If I don't land the final blow, Grima will only sleep. If we want to destroy him, I have to kill him. Think of Lucina and Morgan…their children's children will inherit our burden because we didn't fix it correctly the first time. My life is a small price to pay for ending this evil." She pulled her hand, trying to gently disentangle herself from him.

 _You don't understand_ , Chrom thought, refusing to let her go. _Your life is the ultimate price_. "I can't let you. I love you, Robin and I…I don't know how to live without you. The world needs you here and now. I need you here and now." He gritted his teeth, trying to keep himself in control.

Robin's smile was sad, but she was resolved, so he did the only thing he could think of and lurched forward, letting go of her hand and grabbing her by her cloak with both hands. He pressed a kiss to her cheek and then flung her as far away from him in the opposite direction from the downed dragon as possible. He could face her anger later—he would rather she be alive and furious than dead as a martyr.

Ignoring her cries, he sprinted to the dragon's massive form, unsheathed Falchion and drove it deeply into the monster's skull with as much force as he could possibly muster. A feeling akin to electricity shot through him and he fell to the ground and into darkness.

When his mind awakened again, he marveled at his lack of pain and what a remarkable job the healers must have done with him—then ice pooled in the pit of his stomach and he opened his eyes to see sunlight and an expansive green field. A giggle beside him drew his attention and he turned to see his little sister, very much alive and gesticulating wildly toward the sleeping figure wrapped in a dark Plegian cloak.

It was at that moment that Chrom wondered if it wasn't Naga who had heard his prayer after all, but Grima himself.


	8. Chapter 8

**8.**

 _[Even though each time I know I'll see you again, I always wonder is this the last time?_

 _Is that really you?_

 _And what if you're perfectly happy without me?]_

Though he knew now how to play the cards so that the Shepherds always reached Grima, he didn't bother for the next few lives. It was almost as if Robin somehow remembered his actions from earlier and was angry about it, for she had little to do with him over the following three lives. As a matter of fact, she could almost have been described as hostile in the first of the three; her silver hair obscured one eye but she made a habit of glaring hatefully at him out of the other.

When he finally asked her about her behavior, she unabashedly replied that she just didn't "care much for his face." Before he could feel relieved that it was only his looks that she took offense to, she added that she wasn't fond of his personality either. He'd been through years of royal decorum lessons, but they hadn't prepared him for such frank disapproval from the woman he loved, so he stood and gaped at her like a fish until she walked away.

She married Lon'qu in that life, which only bothered Chrom further; the prince hated his own awkward personality half the time (more now) but he'd always been able to console himself with the fact that there always existed one person with a shittier personality than himself—Lon'qu. Now that Robin had placed her seal of approval on the Feroxian swordmaster, Chrom felt he was squarely at the bottom of the pile. He chose to sabotage a mission soon after Robin's marriage and brought that life to a swift close.

She was perfectly indifferent to him the next life: she neither sought nor eschewed his company. Still feeling a little stung from her previous incarnation, Chrom delayed his attempts to woo her until he could more accurately suss out her character. He dawdled too long, however, for Frederick entered his tent one night to speak to him, looking more agitated than he had ever been, and said "Milord, I humbly request an audience." His words were stiff and formal, but his hands were shaking as they tightly gripped a canvas bag.

"Speak freely, friend," Chrom replied. His curiosity was most piqued by his retainer's unusual behavior.

"I have failed you as a servant, my liege."

Chrom laughed. "It can't be any worse than when you made propaganda posters bearing my nude visage and hung them all over camp." Frederick had even placed one in Robin's tent. Chrom cringed at the memory.

The knight frowned, wrinkling his brow in confusion. "I don't recall ever doing such a thing." Chrom was ready to argue, but upon reflection he realized that that particular event had happened four lives ago. Which life was this anyway? When his liege failed to reply, Frederick continued. "I do like that idea, though. I think it would do wonders for company morale."

"No." Chrom said firmly. "I must insist that you refrain from doing that or anything else that involves my buttocks being visible, thank you." He changed the subject quickly. "You said you had business? State it."

"Yes, milord." Frederick replied, stiffening again. "I have done a terrible thing. I have fallen in love despite my best efforts and I humbly request permission to be wed."

This wasn't what Chrom had expected. "Of course you may be wed. Love is a good thing, Frederick."

"Perhaps, but it has rendered me unfit to serve you properly. She has me so distracted that I, unthinking, put Anna's red cloak into the washing pot with your laundry and desecrated your pantaloons." He upended the sack in his hands, spilling smallclothes onto the war table. "You may view my transgressions here."

Chrom pressed his lips together, holding in laughter. "I've never seen anything quite so vividly pink, I must admit." He glanced at the tent flap before quickly sweeping the candy-colored underthings into a basket. He'd really rather this not get around camp and reach Robin's ears. Vaike would never let it go. "My smallclothes aside, you still haven't named your wife-to-be."

"Ah, she's waiting outside. I'll call her in."

Whether he had suspected it deep down all along or had just become so numb to the world that nothing fazed him anymore, Chrom didn't so much as blink when Robin strode through the flap and stood beside Frederick, glowing with joy. "I know this may seem sudden," she said, twisting a lock of sandy hair in her fingers, "but believe me when I say it is anything but. I knew Frederick was _the one_ as soon as I saw him on that day you found me in the field. I know you care deeply about him and promise I will take care of him!"

It wasn't as if he could deny their union now. He'd technically already given his permission and besides…Chrom's mind filled with images of the many, many times Frederick had thrown himself in harm's way to save his lord or lady. Frederick was his best friend and, more often than not, his savior. No one deserved happiness more than he. "Congratulations," he said weakly but with as much warmth as he could manage. Out of respect for his friend, he waited until a few months after the wedding to throw himself, weaponless, into a crowd of Risen.

Robin was back to her friendly self in the next life, but Chrom's relief was short-lived for she did something she'd never done before with anyone but him—she chose the same partner twice. Her preference for Henry was clear soon after the albino joined the Shepherds and Chrom knew sabotage wouldn't work this time. The prince sat in his tent one evening to begin planning how he was going to remove himself from this life, but was stopped by the appearance on the wall of two shadows whose shapes he recognized as Robin and her tall fiancé. The tactician's gentle laughter filtered through the fabric of the tent wall, casting an even darker shadow on the prince. The two figures dithered for a moment, then Henry reached out, tilted Robin's chin up, and kissed her long and deeply.

Chrom couldn't look away. His stomach was ice filled with needles as a new, horrible thought filtered to the surface of his mind: what if Robin was not meant to be with him? What if she was truly happier in the arms of another man? His pulse thrummed in his ears and he began to panic silently, curling down into himself and gasping quietly for breath. All the years…all the lives…all the timelines he'd sabotaged for the purpose of resetting time in the hopes that Robin would love him again...they haunted him like dark figures, leaning imposingly over his hunched figure and emanating shame and disappointment. How could he say he loved her when he unfailingly put his own happiness ahead of hers? He had surely loved her once, but now it had mutated into something all-consuming and grotesque—a mockery of love itself.

He made the decision not to sabotage this life and to put his whole self into defeating Grima for good, ending this gnawing, biting cycle of misery and death. It was along with this (arguably good) decision that he also made his worst decision out of all the lives—he, partially out of spite and partially out of loneliness, agreed to marry Sumia. He knew the Pegasus knight had been in love with him since they were teenagers and he exploited that knowledge, easily fooling her into believing that he had fallen deeply for her and wanted to be wed.

Despite his best efforts, he was unable to keep up the façade for more than a year after their wedding and he and his wife slowly drifted further and further apart. Sumia realized that he didn't love her the way she loved him and it destroyed her from the inside out. She was a husk of the vibrant woman who had risen through the ranks of the Pegasus knights despite a chronic lack of grace. She was distracted from her grief by the birth of twin girls named Cynthia and, of course, Lucina. Lucina, like always, had inherited Chrom's dark blue hair and her face was largely unchanged, but when Chrom looked closely at both the child and returned adult Lucina, he could clearly see Sumia's rounded softness in her features. As much as he loved his daughter, he hated looking in her face and seeing Sumia.

He should see Robin. She was meant to be Robin's daughter and Morgan's big sister. She was supposed to be a spitfire devoted to her family at all costs, not a gentle, clumsy lady who wielded Falchion with equal skill and distaste.

In the same vein, Morgan was _his_ son. He wasn't meant to trundle behind Henry, carrying armfuls of books and repeating his father's terrible puns in his joyful, piping voice. He was supposed to be a ruddy, stocky boy who was slightly lazy and abhorred unnecessary violence, not a slender mage prodigy with Plegian-white skin and a twisted personality streak. This was all wrong.

Despite his regret and unhappiness with how this life's cards had been played, he was determined to stick to his resolution and defeat Grima to stop the cycle of life and death. True to his intentions, he found himself once again at the tail end of a cruel battle during which Grima had been incapacitated and was awaiting the deathblow. Chrom had managed to save Lissa this time, but at the cost of his loyal knight, Frederick. Frederick's death felt strange and alien to him…he had gotten so used to the cheapness of recycled life that he couldn't wrap his mind around the idea that, after Grima was destroyed, _Frederick wouldn't come back_.

What would it be like to finally move beyond this battle and greet the rest of his splintered life? How would it feel to wake up in the morning and know that he would never be able to hold Robin again or properly thank his best friend, the man who had saved his life so many hundreds of times? Would it feel like anything at all? Was he even still able to feel?

A scuffle behind him broke his stupor and he turned away from Frederick's body to see Henry physically holding Robin away from Grima and crying. Chrom had rarely seen any strong emotion on the Plegian mage's face and it took him aback to see tears streaming down his pale cheeks. "You can't!" He pleaded through clenched jaws. "I won't let you disappear, Robin. Noire and Morgan need their mother! Please!"

Robin was sobbing also. "I'm a monster, Henry! I have to end this!"

"You're not a monster! Don't say that! You're my goddess…literally AND figuratively!" He turned her to face him and kissed her fiercely, tangling his hand in her soft pink hair. "I'll do anything to make you stay. I'll never bring you Risen toes again. I'll always ask you before cursing the neighbors! Please, Robin. Don't do this." She was weakening. She hiccupped a little and buried her face in his chest. Henry crushed her body against him and turned to Chrom. "Chrom, tell her not to do this. Please."

"I need to do this, Chrom. For all of us." Robin argued weakly, still in Henry's embrace.

For a moment that felt like another twelve lives at once, Chrom stood, undecided. This was so important to Robin but…what would be the point of all of this if she disappeared? Why had he lived so many lives and fallen in love with her again and again just to lose her in such a cruel, senseless way? If he had to live this wretched life out, he would at least do it with Robin alive and within reach. "I'll do it," he said firmly.

He gathered all his strength and drove Falchion into the fell dragon's skull, praying as hard as he could that this would be the last time, that his will was enough to end both the wicked god and this miserable loop. Again he was overcome by electricity and again he blacked out.

When he came to, he was once more in the now-familiar field, but this time the world was frozen and drained of color. He tried to move, but his limbs were heavy as if tied down with stones. The fact that his attack on Grima had clearly failed and he had cycled once more was just too much and he yelled as loud as he could, simultaneously furious and crushed, devoid of hope. "WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME? DAMN YOU! LET ME DIE!"

 _Peace, Chrom._

A soft, rich, echoing sound, like an ancient wind given voice, swirled around his motionless body and through his head. His anger ebbed away and he was left with only despair. "Why won't you let me die? Why won't you stop this?"

 _Only you can stop this cycle._

"How?" He asked, his voice shaking.

 _If you love her, trust her._

Though he didn't know how he knew, he knew the voice meant Robin.

 _You know what to do_.

And he did.


	9. Chapter 9

**9.**

 _[Ah, but I don't blame you;_

 _I'll never burn as brilliantly as you.]_

She was a calamity: a deep well of cool anger inside a switchblade body that dealt death like a gambler deals cards. Magic flew from her fingertips in electric arcs, bathing the battlefield in an ethereal glow. War was a stage and she was the performer—a dancer swathed in blood. Time seemed to stop as she swirled and dipped, sharing the spotlight with one partner after another and leaving their corpses on the ground when she was through. Her hair had long since come undone from her customary twin tails and now whirled wildly around her head like a snowstorm.

Chrom was in awe of her hair. It was thin and fine and unmanageable and it was _so white_ , whiter than Henry's, whiter than linen: the kind of white that hurts your eyes—white like when you stare into the sun too long and the world goes blank. _She_ was like staring into the sun—an all-consuming fire and light that blunted his vision until she was all that he could see.

It made sense that the price to destroy Grima was her life; surely to vanquish an enormous darkness it took an even more enormous light. This time, when she stepped forward to put a final end to the fell dragon, Chrom didn't stop her. Instead he pulled her into his arms, trying to burn the feeling of her love into his body, kissed her gently…and let her go.

oOoOoOo

 _Why can't I get rid of you?_ Chrom wondered, looking distastefully at Henry, who stood clasping Lissa's hands at the wedding altar. Somewhere behind the happy couple, Chrom could hear sobs—Frederick's probably—muffled by a handkerchief. He smirked and turned his attention back to his sister, winking when he caught her eye. Little Morgan, now nine, proudly presented the bride and groom with their rings on a pillow that Lucina (the older) had embroidered herself.

Eight years had passed since Robin had disappeared. Neither little Lucina nor Morgan remembered much about her, though sometimes Lucina would point to white things and say "That was the color of Mommy's hair!" Chrom never knew quite what to say. _Yes, Luci, it is_. He refused to say was. Robin was not gone. She was in everything Chrom saw. She shined out of his children's faces and radiated from the earth when the seasons changed. She… _damn_. He missed her.

Watching his children grow was the best part of his life. Their vibrant lives (as well as the stress of becoming Ylisse's next Exalt) kept his days busy, but the nights could be brutal. Sometimes he woke in the middle of the night and reached his hand out, searching for the warmth of his wife, but all he found was the chill of empty sheets. He never cried in front of his children, but some nights when he was alone…despite his best efforts, the tears slipped from his eyes like Robin had slipped from the world—silently.

He strode boldly into the future—the future she'd fought for—but still.

He missed her


	10. Chapter 10

**10.**

 _[It's only fair that I should be the one to chase you across_

 _ten,_

 _twenty-five,_

 _a hundred lifetimes…]_

Footsteps pattered down the stone hallway as their owner darted from room to room, peering inside and then moving on. "Morgan! There you are! Have you seen Father?"

Morgan stopped drawing graffiti on the castle's priceless oil paintings and turned to look at his sister. "Father? Nope. I think he's taking a nap in his usual place."

"Again?" Lucina wrinkled her nose. "I should have guessed as much. He goes out there almost every day. Will he be gone long?"

Morgan shrugged. "Who knows. You know how he is."

Air hissed softly between Lucina's teeth. "Don't you think that's sad? Sitting in that field isn't going to bring Mother back."

There was silence as Morgan carefully rimmed some ancient hero's eyes in black. "Maybe not. But I'm not going to take it away from him." He stepped back to admire his work. "I never met her, you know? I've only heard Father's stories. She must have been amazing, though, if he misses her this much."

A faint, dream-like image of a woman with onyx eyes and hair like the clouds fluttered across Lucina's mind. If she closed her eyes, she could almost feel soft warmth around her and a gentle voice humming an unknown tune. She swallowed hard and pushed the thoughts away. "Give me that ink," she demanded, blinking rapidly. "This needs a mustache."

oOoOoOo

Chrom floated in a pleasant limbo between sleep and awake, enjoying the rays of late spring sunshine filtering through his clothes and warming his skin. A swift breeze ruffled his hair and he sighed. It was a day just like this one…

Something rustled in the grass to his left, but he was too comfortable to open his eyes, and after all, he might just be dreaming. He liked dreaming because dreams were where _she_ was. His favorites were the ones where she was home again and he could lay in bed beside her and just look at her. Her hair and features changed, morphing between all the different permutations he'd seen, but her eyes were always the same mesmerizing, infinite black. Sometimes she'd reach out and touch his arm and…

His eyes flew open; the sensation of someone shaking him had felt too real. He blinked against the late afternoon sunshine, trying to process what he was seeing. When his eyes adjusted, his breath caught in his chest and time stopped.

Was he still dreaming?

"There are better places to take a nap than on the ground, you know," she said.

 _[...until I find the one where you'll return to me.]_

 **The End**


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